


I'm With The Band ... of Brothers

by Devilc



Category: Friday Night Lights
Genre: Gen, Laundrylist, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-11
Updated: 2010-01-11
Packaged: 2017-10-06 03:39:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devilc/pseuds/Devilc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt Castor's alive and well and still playing with Crucifictorius.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm With The Band ... of Brothers

**Author's Note:**

> Written for FNL_Laundrylist Challenge #5, prompt #14  "Has Kurt Castor been attacked by any more football players? Is he in Crucifictorious? Or he just lost forever to the Dillon character pile?
> 
> Oh and there's a bit of Tim/Landry if you squint right. ;)

Coach Taylor was absolutely right in that no members of the football team would try and take a shot at him.

 

The problem is, Kurt Castor realizes, looking down at the torched contents of his locker, is that Bobby Reyes wasn't a member of the football team anymore, and now he was getting back. Somehow, of course, that was all Kurt's fault. Because oh no, no way would Reyes ever be honest with himself that it was his own lying ass stupidity that got him kicked off the team. Nope, he just needed somebody else to blame, and it's just bad luck that happens to make it Kurt.

 

_Shit_.

 

~oo(0)oo~

 

"Kurt, do you have any idea who did this?" Mrs. Taylor asks, her voice full of concern.

 

"No ma'am," he lies. Kurt just feels relieved that he has an airtight alibi  Algebra 2  so at least nobody in Admin thinks he did it.

 

~oo(0)oo~

 

The next day, after school, he goes out to his ancient brown Datsun 510 to find "fag" painted in bright pink letters on the hood.

 

He's not even old enough to go down to the store and pick up a couple cans of Krylon and paint over it on his own. Oh no. He has to drive home and let his mom and dad (who hits the roof) see what has happened. Dad is so pissed off he even makes Kurt go down to the police station and file a report about the vandalism before taking him to Wal-Mart so they can pick up a couple cans of primer and some sandpaper.

 

It's midnight before they get to bed, and now Kurt's car, a POS to begin with, is the color of wet ashes.

 

Swell.

 

~oo(0)oo~

 

On Friday, it's Elmer's Glue all over everything in his new locker.

 

The band _tears _ through its two sets that night at the Broken Spoke. They might be _Christian _ Speed Metal (because that's all their parents will let them play) but Kurt feels like he's Nick frikkin Oliveri, or maybe Lemmy Kilmeister (God, his parents would flip if they knew he had a secret stash of "devil music") as he wrings thundering chords out of his bass.

 

It's the usual set of 10 hard core regulars, plus Tim Riggins, who saunters in toward the middle of the second set  Landry must have helped him pass something big again  but there's just something in the air and it's like everybody there can tell that tonight, they've taken it to the next level. They are _psyched _ as they get off the stage and start hauling their gear away.

 

Reyes and two of his loser friends are waiting for them out back, slouching against the rear door of Landry's station wagon.

 

There's a long silence, then Landry says, "Do you mind? We've got to load our gear in."

 

Reyes hawks and spits at him, catching him square in the chest.

 

Kurt's not sure who's more surprised at what happens next.

 

Because **BAM! ** Landry throws a hard right and instantly Reyes is on the ground looking up at them. And Kurt can't believe that Landry, who's about as laid back and mellow as it gets, threw a punch, and from the look on his face, Reyes can't believe that a nobody like Landry Clarke knocked him on his ass.

 

And like that, the fight is on. Kurt ends up grappling with one of Reyes's friends, and while he doesn't know jack about fighting, the rage that's been boiling in Kurt for ... a long time, really ... explodes.

 

He may not be a jock, but you don't carry a heavy Fender bass around and practice several times a week and put on shows and _not _ put on some muscle underneath that baby-fat you haven't quite shed yet. Kurt tastes blood in his mouth and it's not his, and well, that's what that stupid fucker gets for trying a forearm choke and not getting his hold right. Kurt kicks back as he breaks away and catches his opponent square in the nuts. The asshole goes down and pukes and is _not _ getting up again.

 

Kurt whirls around and ... Reyes' other buddy is rolling on the ground while Mike and Jeff get a few last kicks in, and _Tim Riggins _ is breaking up Landry and Reyes.

 

"Way to help a buddy," Reyes snarls at Riggins. Kurt feels insane glee at the sight of the bruise on Reyes' cheek. Landry seems to have given him a split lip, too.

 

And like that, Riggins' fist curls in Reyes' shirt and he gets right in Reyes' face and screams at him that he's been asking for this all week and that if _anything _ happens to Landry, or _anybody _ Landry's band, Reyes will get an ass handing like nothing he's ever wet dreamed of, because he's a no good asshole and a bully and Riggins has been _itching _ for him to be stupid enough to get in his face because he'd love an excuse, any excuse, to clean Reyes' clock.

 

And then Riggins sends Reyes flying ... right into the side of a truck.

 

And that's that.

 

Except that Riggins asks Landry if he's okay and makes him show Riggins his rapidly blackening eye, and Riggins claps Landry on the shoulder and tells him that he's going to have a hell of a shiner come Monday.

 

"You would know," Landry snarks back and Riggins busts out laughing.

 

Riggins helps them load the rest of their gear in the back of Landry's wagon and then goes his way.

 

They all look at each other for a few minutes after they climb in and shut the doors. Scrapes, bruises, ripped shirts, and yeah, Landry's shiner is purpling up nicely, but ... there's this glorious feeling that _nothing _ can take away. The air is all but humming with it.

 

They. Had. Reyes.

 

They. Beat. His. Ass.

 

"We happy few, we band of brothers," Landry mutters before starting the car.

 

Yeah.

 

They might argue over who's the better guitarist  Stevie Ray Vaughan or Jimi Hendrix, they often can't even agree on what kind of pizza to order in, and they squabble about lyrics and song writing and riffs, but yeah ...

 

... from here on out they are agreed on one thing.

 

You fuck with any member of the band, you fuck with the whole band.

 

That, and Tim Riggins is a really good roadie.

**Author's Note:**

> Has a companion piece: [I'm With The Band ... of Vestial Virgins](http://archiveofourown.org/works/49261).


End file.
